


Every shade that you offer

by silvervelour



Category: RuPaul's Drag Race (US) RPF
Genre: F/F, a lot of gay activities, art student jan, comparative literature student jackie, dykes being dykes
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-07
Updated: 2021-01-10
Packaged: 2021-03-08 18:00:28
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 15,081
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27440833
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/silvervelour/pseuds/silvervelour
Summary: “I don’t think I’ve ever seen anyone take that book out”.The words are amused, fuelled by a smirk. Jan turns her head to the source of them - a woman clutching a copy of Orlando by Virginia Woolf - and is instantly put at ease. Jan takes her in as her grip loosens on her own book, her slew of silver rings reflecting in the library strip lights, and then shrugs nonchalantly. The woman is dressed in a pair of cord mom jeans, paired with a white t-shirt and a denim shirt thrown over the top. It’s the kind of outfit that when paired with the ankle boots that are on her feet, lets Jan know that she gets it.Gets her.Gets being-a-dyke-who-loves-dyke-literature.She’s safe.
Relationships: Jackie Cox/Jan Sport
Comments: 36
Kudos: 67





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> hi babies!! sooooo, for those of you who don't know, im an art student, so this is one giant projection onto poor jan. I love this fic with all my heart and am super excited to share it with you!! it's purely an excuse to waffle about nerdy art stuff for 4 ch's :) 
> 
> I hope you enjoy, and feel free to lemme know your thoughts!<3

Jan loves reds and pinks and yellows and greens.

But she also loves purples. 

She loves how they can be bright or muted, pale or intense. It’s a feat that colours like yellow and red don’t possess and Jan has always prided herself on her ability to stay shockingly on brand, while also having range. She paints in shades of lavender and lilac, and then blue leaning fuschias that bleed into one another. They form tonal rivers on the canvases that she paints - swirling hips, flowing breasts - and Jan can’t imagine creating her work any other way. Her realm of the feminine that mingles with the personal is comfortable; and she’s good at it. 

Jan also loves how said purples look on her. 

She wears them most days, in alternating variations. 

_ Mauve, plum, periwinkle, iris, orchid, hibiscus, violet, magenta, sangria, heather, mulberry, boysenberry, eggplant, amethyst, wine, raisin, thistle, plain old purple.  _

Today’s outfit is a combination of lilac dungarees and a white t-shirt, the sleeves and legs of which are both cuffed. She’s covered in stains of paint, some of oil and some of acrylic because she likes to use both, depending on her mood. It’s always oil if she’s feeling  _ fancy _ , acrylic if she just needs to get an idea out of her mind and onto the nearest surface. The synthetic, water soluble base makes for an easy cleanup, most of the time, though the patches of outdated pink and visceral red that are streaked along one of her thighs are testament to how much the pigment loves to cling to clothing. 

Jan has chosen to wear an old pair of black Doc Martens on her feet. They’re laced loosely, and are as paint splattered as her dungarees. The platforms add a little over an inch to her height and she thinks it’s useful for when she’s the only one left in the studio late at night, and she has to reach to the higher shelves for supplies and materials. Her hair is brushed back into two messy space buns that sit atop her head, and she has two small strands framing her face. They wave naturally, falling to just past her jaw, though she often finds herself tucking them behind her ears just to get them out of the way. 

Sasha had once joked that she  _ should just shave her head _ , had claimed it to be the most liberating thing she’d ever done. Jan had contemplated it for a solid ten minutes before scrapping the idea, tossing it into the trash. She feels one with her blonde, bleached hair that she sometimes tints different colours, and knows that her identity is far too interweaved with her art practice for her to do something so reckless. Jan is her work and her work is her, even if the idea is a fun one that she knows her roommate Lemon would  _ die _ over. 

The thought makes Jan snort as she enters the library, shoes scuffing against the carpeted floors. 

The language students huddled around their textbooks and coffees that have run cold shoot her icy looks, though the science majors fixated on their computers don’t look up from their keyboards. Half of the room is too busy listening to whatever’s playing in their earphones to pay any mind to Jan, and she’s thankful for it as she traipses the aisles of books. She hums to herself - nondescript tunes, riffs that she’s picked up from her  _ happy bops _ playlist - and drags her finger along the spines of journals in the photography section. Some of them gather dust and others are frequently borrowed, but Jan walks past them to where fine art meets feminism. 

It’s a section that’s smaller than most others. The academics don’t care much for it and neither do the majority of the creatives, Jan knows. It’s easier to pretend that the intersections don’t exist for them but for Jan - a queer woman whose subjects are queer women - it seems more like an essential than something that she can pick or choose. It’s why whenever she encounters anybody else browsing the same books as her, she offers them bright smiles, friendly waves and the occasional bout of small talk. They have too much in common for her to reduce them to passers by because they coexist, whether they’re as close as chosen family or as distant as cafeteria acquaintances. 

And usually, it’s only Jan that ever initiates the conversations. 

But when she picks up a copy of  _ Feminism Art Theory _ , fingers wrapping around the spine of it, she hears a low chuckle coming from her right. 

“I don’t think I’ve ever seen anyone take that book out”. 

The words are amused, fuelled by a smirk. Jan turns her head to the source of them - a woman clutching a copy of  _ Orlando _ by Virginia Woolf - and is instantly put at ease. Jan takes her in as her grip loosens on her own book, her slew of silver rings reflecting in the library strip lights, and then shrugs nonchalantly. The woman is dressed in a pair of cord mom jeans, paired with a white t-shirt and a denim shirt thrown over the top. It’s the kind of outfit that when paired with the ankle boots that are on her feet, lets Jan know that she gets it. 

Gets her. 

Gets  _ being-a-dyke-who-loves-dyke-literature _ . 

She’s safe.

“Oh-”. Jan snorts. 

She spots the tote bag slung over the woman's shoulder,  _ do you not know I am a woman? When I think, I must speak _ printed across it in an old english font. 

“-I’m an art student”. She explains. 

With her eyebrows raised, the woman hums. She gives Jan an exaggerated once over, her lips pursed and cheeks puckered. Jan watches her smile grow and then marvels as it’s replaced by a smirk that stretches wide across her face. The woman is all dark hair and dark eyes, a coat of mascara and a layer of lip balm. Around her neck, she’s wearing a plain gold chain that mirrors the silver one that Jan keeps tucked under her shirt. She nods her head, then gestures at Jan’s outfit, Jan’s own cotton tote bag that’s brandished with the phrase  _ maybe it’s a girl crush, maybe you’re queer _ . 

“Of course you are”. The woman drawls. 

Jan feigns shock, drops her jaw. 

And then she plays into it. 

“Let me guess-”. Jan nods towards the copy of  _ Orlando _ in the woman's hand. 

“-Literature? Gender studies?”. She smirks. 

_ Game, set, match _ , Jan thinks. 

The woman plays into it just as easily. 

“So close!-”. She beams. 

“-Comparative lit and culture”. 

Her correction is smug, but Jan allows it, both because it makes her giggle and because the woman looks good doing it. She glows beneath the shadows that the shelves cast upon her, and Jan thinks that it’s a welcome change to the monotony and dreariness of those that are still sat at tables, guzzling energy drinks as if it’s going to save them from the fact they got two hours sleep the night before. The woman is bright, awake, and Jan rolls her eyes because of course; if comparative literature and culture had a physical manifestation it would be cord pants and a Shakespearean tote. 

They smile at each other, polite yet static, and then the woman waves, nods to the checkout desk. 

“Anyway-”. She chuckles. 

Jan is still grinning at her, clutching  _ Feminism Art Theory _ tightly to her chest. 

“-Live, laugh, literary criticism, gotta’ go!”. 

At her words, Jan cackles. She doesn't make any attempt at muting herself, because she’s never understood downplaying her emotions - happiness especially - even in places where she maybe should. She’s attacked with  _ hushes _ from all angles, including staff that pass her by, though the woman keeps smirking at her and it’s enough to have Jan still snorting out chuckles. Jan presses her fingertips to her mouth to attempt to calm herself, but knows that it’s going to be futile when laughter slips between her knuckles and gathers in her palm. 

“Go!-”. Jan squeals. 

Her cheeks are burning, ears ringing. 

“-I’ll see ‘ya around!”. 

And Jan hopes that she does. 

Because she didn’t even catch her name. 

*****

Jan is running late to her life drawing class. 

And unsurprisingly, her roommate Lemon is the cause of it. Jan had gotten out of bed on time, made it to the library that morning before receiving a panicked phone call where Lemon had hurried out the words  _ sink _ and  _ flood _ and  _ help _ . Jan had rushed back towards their walkup apartment before lunch and had been greeted with the sight of Lemon on her hands and knees, desperately mopping up sudsy water with all of the towels that they own. Lemon’s dog Gus and Jan’s cat Mango had been watching in confusion from their place on the couch, and Jan had chosen to sit with them in lieu of helping Lemon. 

It had been fun to watch her pout and whine about it, for a while. 

“Jan-”. She’d dramatised. 

“-I’m gonna’  _ drown _ ”. 

Jan had laughed, kicked her feet up onto the coffee table. Mango settled in her lap - all fluffy orange fur, calm purrs - and Gus had nestled into her side. Lemon had watched with a scowl but eventually, Jan had made use of herself by calling their landlord, something which she’d jokingly chastised Lemon for not thinking of in the first place. The problem had been solved within the hour but by the time that Jan had tugged her shoes back on, sprinted back towards campus, she’d been ten minutes late and with soap soaked dungarees. 

She’s walking as quickly yet cautiously as she’s able to, down the corridor towards the life drawing room. Her tote bag is slipping from her shoulder as she grapples desperately at her oversized pad of paper, and Jan is praying that she makes it to her easel without dropping anything. She’d once lost a whole pack of shader pencils after a similar occurrence on a staircase at the end of her sophomore year, and it’s not something she’s keen on repeating even if it is something that she’s able to laugh about now that it’s been nearly two years since then. 

When she does reach the door, Jan forgoes knocking. 

It’s far from proper practice, and isn’t how Jan would usually conduct herself, but she’s too caught up in the thrum of her heart and the adrenaline of her earlier iced coffee to worry about it. She pushes out a string of  _ sorries _ that mostly go unnoticed, and weaves between those already drawing without looking up from her feet. The air inside the room is calm though Jan feels nothing but frantic, and as she adjusts the last free easel to her height, she mumbles a slew of  _ shit’s _ and  _ fuck’s _ and  _ oh my god’s _ to herself. 

Once she’s settled, forehead breaking out into a sweat, she looks up. 

And the charcoal that she’d been gripping in her hand - snaps. 

She stumbles against the leg of her easel, and knocks her sheet of paper from where it had been balancing on the ledge of it. She curses herself for not taping it to the board and gulps, hard. There are wispy strands of hair escaping her space buns and they’re beginning to stick to her hairline, and are thus frizzing with the humidity of the room. Her eyesight blurs and she clears her throat, though manages to disguise it as a cough. Jan is blanking, buffering, and it’s all because of dark hair and tanned skin and eyes that meet her own with shock and -

The model is the woman from the library. 

“Jan”.

“Jan?”.

“ _ Jan! _ ”. 

Next to her, Crystal is smirking. 

Jan blinks at her and then glances back to the model, before looking at Crystal once more. She’s stood there, wearing one of the many crazy shirts Jan has seen her in throughout the past three and a half years, with her curly dark mullet and chunky glasses pushed high up on the bridge of her nose. Her hands are already covered with black charcoal dust and she wipes her fingertips off on the multi coloured paisley of her shirt. Her eyes are also as bleary as they always are - Jan doesn’t think she’s ever seen her not be high - but she’s smirking at Jan as if she knows exactly what she’s thinking. 

And Jan knows that she probably does. 

“Jaaaaan-”. Crystal sings. 

Jan sighs, takes ahold of the spare charcoal that Crystal’s offering her. 

“-Focus, dude. Eyes on the reward or whatever they say”.

Crystal makes her laugh, and it momentarily relieves Jan’s stupor.  _ Be professional _ , Jan tells herself,  _ get your shit together _ . She can imagine Lemon telling her something similar, and knows that she wouldn’t sugarcoat her chastising with pleasantries. Lemon often lays into her for being a _ useless dyke _ , but looking at the woman in front of her, Jan thinks that she might have reached new levels. Her markings on the paper are wobbly as she attempts her first warm up sketch, and they continue to be shakier than she would like them as she cycles through to her third ten minute drawing. 

Or her first thirty minute drawing. 

Because Jan doesn’t think she’s making it up when she says the woman’s eyes haven’t left her own. 

Unlike Jan’s messy and chaotic movements, the woman -  _ Jackie _ , as she learns when Sasha asks her to switch poses - is calm, fluid in her approach. She positions herself in a way that’s delicate and poised, arms covering her chest. There’s nothing that Jan can see, not really, and it makes outlining the swerves and dips of her body all the more enthralling. She’s partially covered by a white sheet, draped over her lap and pooling at her ankles. Jan notes that she’s seemingly regal and statuesque, while also being sensual and smooth. 

It makes drawing her easy. 

When it comes to their forty-five minute pose, Jan is finally able to focus. It’s all in thanks to Jackie’s reassuring smile, and how she mouths the word  _ breathe _ directly in Jan’s direction when the rest of the class are busy swapping their used pages for fresh ones. It’s easier said than done - Jackie doesn’t have to stare at herself while attempting to produce something passable - but once she gets her first precautionary marks down, Jan is at ease. She spends most of the time dedicating the details to Jackie’s arms, her shoulders and her clavicles. They’re angular yet rounded, velvety, and make for a dynamic drawing that in the end, Jan is proud of. 

Afterwards, Jan packs up slowly. 

Intentionally. 

She’s the last one left in the room when Jackie pulls her sheer red robe on, and Jan blushes as scarlet as the fabric of it when Crystal smirks suggestively upon leaving. Jan nudges her with a cackle, holds back a comment about how she used to ogle Gigi when she’d modeled for them in junior year. Crystal holds her hands up in mock surrender and carries herself and her pad of paper out of the room, not before shooting Jan another wink. Jan waves as she leaves, and when the door clicks shut, she turns back to Jackie who’s already walking towards her, crossing the room in wide strides. 

Jackie comes to stand next to her, a pillar of confidence next to Jan’s easel. 

She’s warm, serene, yet has the same energy that Jan had experienced from her the morning prior. Neither of them speak while Jan finishes packing up the charcoal that Crystal had left with her, or the pencils and fineliners she’d left scattered on the floor. She slots them back into the case that she has made a habit of keeping in her tote and it’s only when Jackie shifts from one foot to the other that Jan heaves out a breath. She’s been holding it captive in her lungs since she’d first stepped into the room and to let it out feels like a relief.

“I was expecting Nicky-”. Jan chuckles.

It’s an ice breaker, a way to defrost herself. 

“-She normally models these sessions”. 

Jackie laughs in the same melodic way that Jan remembers from the library. She folds her arms over her chest, tucks her chin downwards and purses her lips. Slowly, her expression evolves into the smirk that Jan is starting to view as an addiction, and then she shrugs her shoulders. Jan doesn’t miss how the fabric of her robe falls slightly, and can’t help the way her eyes are drawn to the skin of Jackie’s sternum. She’s still wearing a simple gold chain around her neck and it frames a cluster of beauty marks, reflects the harsh yellow light of the room. 

“I lost a bet-”. Jackie explains. 

She waves a dismissive hand, rolls her eyes. 

“-It’s a long story”. 

Jan doesn’t have to hold back her resulting cackle.

“Sounds like it, gorg”.

Jackie vows that she’ll tell her the full story at some point, and Jan swears that she’s going to hold her to it. They laugh about why Jan was late and share the same understanding that Crystal had seen right through the both of them. Jackie still stands, relaxed next to Jan’s easel, but never once looks at what Jan has produced without her consent. She chooses to instead ask if she can take a peak when there’s a lull in the conversation and Jan says yes -  _ yes yes yes _ \- because she thinks that Jackie is a beauty that deserves to be seen, even if it’s by her own set of eyes. Jackie presses herself closer to Jan’s side, leans even closer to squint at the paper in front of her. She confesses to Jan that she’s meant to wear glasses but had misplaced her contact lenses and Jan bites her tongue to stop a giggle from falling from it. 

And then Jackie stops. 

Mouth agape. 

“These are… incredible”.

While Jan knows that they probably are, hearing it from Jackie makes her preen.

She stops herself from asking Jackie if she really means it, if she’s being serious, because the look of admiration on Jackie’s face promises her that she is. Jackie points out bits that she likes and parts that she loves. She lets Jan know that she’s never imagined her hair to be so picturesque, or her posture to be so elegant. Jan scoffs at the revelation because she’s been going to life drawing classes for the last half of the decade and Jackie rivals the best models that she’s witnessed; in charisma and allure and grace. 

As well as being unmistakably  _ hot _ . 

“For real, Jan-”. Jackie starts. 

“-You have such a talent”. She praises. 

Unable to stop herself, Jan grins. 

“It’s easy when you have a good model”. She winks. 

And she thinks that she’s blown it. 

But then Jackie tilts her head, beams, reaches out for a pen that Jan’s yet to pack away. 

She scrawls her number on Jan’s wrist, signs it with a smiley face, and Jan leaves ten minutes later thinking of _Orlando_ and gold and Jackie’s umber eyes. 


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jan and Jackie keep texting. 
> 
> They start their days with enthusiastic good mornings and end them with sleepy goodnights. In between, Jan begins picking Jackie apart, seeking to learn everything about her that Jackie’s willing to teach her. She gets a crash course in Jackie through corny literature memes and reaction pictures that Jan would have never otherwise seen, and Jan delivers one right back in the form of keyboard smashes and excitable tangents. Jan sends pictures of Mango curled up at the end of her bed, and comical pictures of herself that have Jackie sending back voice notes of airy laughter. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hi babesssss!! so,,, if you were all expecting a sweet lil slow burn arty story for these two,, sorry :)
> 
> things get ~snazzy~ at the end of this ch so I hope you enjoy!!! thank you for all of the lovely feedback on the first ch, it means so much!!

Jan texts Jackie that night. 

And then the following morning. 

As well as into the next evening.

Jan learns about the bet that Jackie had lost to Nicky, and then repeats the story to Lemon during their fortnightly apartment craft night. According to Jackie, she’d been too overconfident, and had found herself in a battle with Nicky to get the highest grade in their shared class of _historical European culture_. Nicky had inevitably gotten a full five percent higher, claiming that her French background had been of use, and it’s why Jackie had found herself perched in the centre of a room full of art students, twenty pairs of eyes scrutinising her every move. 

**Jan**

_Jhbfdkhjdfksl wtf you MADE A BET_

_WITH A FRENCH DOLL_

_For a European class!!!!!_

_JACKIEEE HAHAHAHA_

**Jackie**

_I didn’t hear any complaints :)_

When Lemon finds out, she laughs. Raucously. They’ve been drinking their ways through cans of rosé and pinot grigio since just after dinner - it’s now nearly midnight - and she waves her arms around chaotically. She’s laid back on their living room carpet, surrounded by swatches of fabric, and Jan has to chuckle along with her when she flails her legs. Lemon has been making a mood out of yellows and pinks and creams for one of her fashion classes, and Jan has been painting small, abstract vulvas onto palm sized canvases. They’re opposites in how and what they create, but Jan has always found that working in the same space as someone makes for an injection of inspiration. 

And today is no different. 

In the background, Lemon is playing Fletcher’s _bitter_ from her portable speaker, and is mumbling bits of the chorus around listening to Jan’s anecdotes. She makes a point out of repeating the line _I’m bitter_ while pointing at herself and when Jan asks why, she responds with _because Lemon, duh_ , as if it’s obvious. Jan snorts, shakes her head, and wipes off a streak of mauve paint on what were once a white pair of mom jeans. Lemon grimaces at the sight of it, but Jan justifies it because it’s all part of the process of making. 

She’s still not sure if Lemon quite believes her. 

**Jan**

_Lem is singing Jackie save me_

**Jackie**

_Oh no how will you ever survive?_

**Jan**

_THIS IS A SERIOUS MATTER_

**Jackie**

_Shhh, enjoy craft night!! Go paint your pussies_

Jan sets her phone down next to her with a thud, and then picks up her last can of rosé to swig back the little that remains. Lemon eyes her from where she’s now laid on her side, head propped up in the palm of her hand. The song switches to a rap that Jan doesn’t recognise but knows that Lemon must love, and then she stretches out her legs in front of her. She’s careful not to knock the murky mugs of paint water, and is cautious of not disturbing Gus and Mango that have chosen to curl up next to them. 

“Don’t tell me-”. Lem twirls a strand of her hair around her finger, purses her lips.

She nods to Jan’s phone, and is a perfect picture of smugness. 

“-You’re talking to life drawing girl again”. 

As if on queue, the screen of Lemon’s own phone lights up. Her smirk quickly dissipates, and is replaced with a slightly startled, wide eyed smile. _Gotcha_ Jan thinks as she tosses her hair over her shoulder. She clears her throat, brown eyes mischievous and searching, and then nods to Lemon’s phone. Lemon makes quick work of swiping the notifications off of her lockscreen but Jan isn’t stupid, and is able to see the collection of heart and sparkle emoji’s next to the contacts name from a mile off. 

“The girl from film and TV you haven’t shut up about?”. Jan retorts.

She’s grinning, eyebrows raised. 

But Lemon isn’t giving her the satisfaction. 

“I asked first”. Lemon pouts. 

She’s borderline whiny, and Jan rolls her eyes at Lemon’s antics that are admittedly endearing. Lemon has always been able to see right through her as if she’s a glass panel, and Jan gives in to her with a shy giggle. She hasn’t spoken about what she has with Jackie because it’s new, so fresh that even _she_ doesn’t know. It’s a spring friendship that’s blossoming easily into a summer crush and Jan reels off the vague consensus of it while Lemon smiles at her, excited and eager. 

“Yes, we’re talking-”. Jan admits. 

“-She’s fun, it’s nice”. 

After that, Jan picks her paintbrush back up, and it marks the end of their conversation. Lemon sits up from the floor shortly after, reaching for her hot glue gun and swatch of pink leather. She sticks it to the white card of her moodboard, and when she’s done she offers Jan one last can of pinot grigio from their fridge. Jan accepts - because why wouldn’t she - and cracks it open with a lavender acrylic stained thumb. 

“Now-”. Jan conspires once they’re settled.

“-Tell me allllll about this Priyanka”. 

*****

Jan and Jackie keep texting. 

They start their days with enthusiastic good mornings and end them with sleepy goodnights. In between, Jan begins picking Jackie apart, seeking to learn everything about her that Jackie’s willing to teach her. She gets a crash course in Jackie through corny literature memes and reaction pictures that Jan would have never otherwise seen, and Jan delivers one right back in the form of keyboard smashes and excitable tangents. Jan sends pictures of Mango curled up at the end of her bed, and comical pictures of herself that have Jackie sending back voice notes of airy laughter. 

**Jackie**

_I’m sad I don’t have a cute cat to send you pictures of_

**Jan**

_What kind of dyke are you omg_

**Jackie**

_One whose landlord said: no pets_

**Jan**

_THAT’S A CRIME BGFDHJKS NO_

**Jackie**

_I guess I’ll just have to come visit Mango to fill the void in my life :)_

**Jan**

_I’m sure he (and me) would love that !!!_

It happens more than once. Jackie visits Jan and Lemon’s apartment one day after classes, and drops her tote at the foot of the couch. She curls up on it easily, like she belongs there, and Mango makes himself comfortable in her lap. Jan doesn’t tell her that he’s never taken to anyone as quickly before for fear of the blush that she’s able to feel peeking on her cheeks, but she gives Jackie a look that she thinks is understood. Jackie coos when Mango nuzzles into her hand or headbuts her cheek, and Jan makes them cups of herbal tea in the kitchen. Lemon waves politely to the both of them whenever she pases, but doesn’t hold back her goading smirk. 

“Have fun, bitches!”. She calls. 

Jan only responds with a middle finger thrown in her direction, and then looks back to Jackie. The routine repeats itself, for days, weeks, and Jan finds herself spending more time with Jackie than she does by herself. They talk about words and about work, about art and all things being cradled in their minds at that particular time. Sometimes, Jackie falls asleep in Jan’s bed with her, pressed against her back, and on other occasions they crash on Jackie’s couch. Jackie’s roommate - Jaida - works at a bar downtown and leaves for the night shift before Jackie gets home; it means that for the most part, they have free rein. 

Jan kicks her shoes off in the hallway of Jackie’s apartment 

It’s late on a Friday, and Jan’s spent the day in her small studio, painting and creating and planning. The walls of her space are painted a warm periwinkle, and on top of them she’s outlined fluffy, white clouds. There are fairy lights strung from one corner of the ceiling to the other and the old wooden floorboards are stained thick with droplets of paint. Jan likes looking at them as they evolve, each artist's imprint being deposited on top of the next, year after year. The longer that Jan stays in the same studio, the less green that she’s able to see. She tells Jackie about it when she steps through the threshold of her apartment, all tired smiles and oil stained fingers. 

“Hey-”. Jackie greets. 

She pulls Jan into a tender embrace, and Jan’s able to smell the vanilla of her perfume on her sweater. 

“-You just missed Jaida”. 

Jan walks through the apartment, perches herself on a stool in the kitchen per Jackie’s instruction. Jackie is midway through preparing dinner for the both of them - a simple pasta dish that’s speaking to Jan’s italian heart - and has a bottle of red wine already opened on the countertop. Jan takes it upon herself to pour a glass for each of them and as she does so, she listens to happy ramblings of Jackie’s day. She listens intently, lips pressed against the rim of her glass, and lets Jackie’s mellow voice sooth her. 

“You’ll never guess what she told me today”. Jackie states. 

Jan takes a sip of wine, then places her glass down. 

“Who, Jaida?”. She asks. 

“Jaida!”. Jackie nods. 

Her eyes are wide, expressive. She’s gesturing wildly with her hands, a wooden spoon still held in one of them. Jan purses her lips in laughter then nods her head, lifts her glass in a _cheers_. 

“Go on, enlighten me”. Jan beams. 

She rests her elbows on the countertop, balances her chin in the palms of her hands. Jackie places the spoon back into the pot, and switches off the stove top with a steadying breath. She sits on the stool across from Jan, then - there’s an island of granite between them - and places her hands flat on the table. Jackie opens her mouth slowly, and Jan knows that it’s her way of preparing her for the words that are going to leave her mouth. Jan doesn’t yet know what they are, but she can only imagine the possibilities from the short yet sweet encounters she’s had with Jaida. 

_Warm welcomes in the living room._

_Polite questions about Jan’s studies._

_Friendly giggles and jokes over dinner._

“She slept with Nicky”. Jackie deadpans. 

And Jan’s jaw drops.

“Shut up”. 

“That’s what I said!”. 

Jan is in disbelief, and she makes a point of taking another sip of wine before continuing. 

“When did that happen?!”. Her voice is louder than intended. 

Jackie looks as if she’s on the verge of either cackling or collapsing, but Jan thinks that both would be more than valid. Her hands have now migrated across the island, and have pulled Jan’s wrists towards her. She delicately encircles them with her fingers, and strokes her thumbs against the freckles on Jan’s arms. Jan knows that she’s blushing beneath the smudges of paint on her cheeks, but she doesn’t make any effort at escaping her grasp. It feels nice, as warm as the heated kitchen, and Jan grins because Jackie is _still_ smiling at her. 

“Jan-”. Jackie leans closer. 

There’s suspense, tension. 

“-It’s been happening for _months_ ”. 

And then a gasp. 

“Fuck _off_ ”. Jan emphasises. 

She tightens her hold on Jackie’s hands. 

“I said that too!”.

It’s then that Jan barks out a laugh. 

“You would never”. She shakes her head. 

“Ok, maybe not, but I said the first one”. 

Between sips of wine and hand holds that refuse to end, they both continue to giggle. Jan drops her head to the cold granite, and groans aloud at the realisation of Nicky and Jaida becoming a _thing_ right under both hers and Jackie’s noses. Jackie ponders how they both didn’t notice earlier, but Jan chooses to reminisce on all of the occasions that it should have been obvious to them. She recalls Nicky and Jaida standing close in the kitchen of Jackie’s apartment one night, sharing a glass of cheap prosecco, and remembers Jaida once mentioning she was staying over at a friend's place; Nicky’s place. 

“Well shit-”. Jan laughs. 

Jackie stands up from the stool, begins pulling bowls and cutlery from the cupboards.

“-Get it, girlies”.

*****

They’re laying on Jackie’s bed, pj’s on and fairy lights lit. 

Jan has chosen to play her Ariana Grande playlist in the background, and Jackie doesn’t argue. She’s becoming used to the constant pop, the icons that she has on her _fave_ _dolls_ playlist, Jan thinks. Jackie sometimes hums along to them but when she doesn’t, she regards Jackie sweetly out of the corner of her eye. They face each other, propped up on their elbows, and have their legs intertwined beneath the downy layer of Jackie’s duvet. Jackie’s cold toes press against Jan’s shins as they both talk aimlessly, and they warm up thanks to the heat of her skin, gradually. 

It’s a little after eight in the evening, and as summer drags on, so do the longer days. Outside, it’s just starting to get dark, and beyond the panes of Jackie’s bedroom window the sky is glowing a dark purple, an amethyst that Jan wishes upon. They have a view of the lights that spread out across the neighbourhood, the cars that drive past on the streets below, though Jan is more focused on the even rise and fall of Jackie’s breathing. Her hands form smooth waves between them as she talks, and Jan follows the tips of her navy painted nails as if they’re drawing constellations amongst the stars in the sky. 

“I love how you capture women-”. Jackie tells her. 

They’ve been talking about Jan’s art, her paintings and her aims.

And though wine fuels them, they compel each other. 

“-It’s so _sexy_ ”. She admits. 

Jan stays quiet, but basks in Jackie’s praise just as she does whenever she’s rewarded with it. She drops her head onto the pillow beneath her, and then rolls onto her back. It means that she’s forced to detangle her legs from Jackie’s but Jackie follows her, mirrors Jan from her head to her toes. Jan turns only her head to face her, and smiles with her bottom lip nestled between her teeth. Jackie’s eyes are trailing across her, and Jan feels herself being pulled closer as _34+35_ by Ariana plays gently. 

“Yeah?”. Jan asks. 

She’s smiling softly still, and Jackie’s grinning back at her. 

“It’s like-”. Jackie starts. 

Her voice drops, and Jan sinks into it. 

“-Men make art of women all the time. And they do it badly, don’t they?”. She chuckles. 

Jan nods her head in agreement, because it’s always the acclaimed men - white, straight, cisgendered, wealthy men - that make the worst work that she has the displeasure of seeing. She tells Jackie that she focuses on women and sex and langauge because it’s what she knows and what she loves. She talks about her adoration for the vulgarity that is rarely touched upon by the art world that she loathes yet admires, and Jackie hums affirmatively throughout. They share the air between them that tastes like bittersweet red wine and a want that Jan’s unable to pin point. 

“But it’s so much more than that too, right?”. Jan continues. 

Jackie crooks an eyebrow, shifts noticeably closser. 

“In what way?”. 

“It’s like… each touch to the body, how a woman moves… how she tastes… the sounds she makes when she comes… all captured through words or paint or, I don’t know, fucking _embroidery_ ”. Jan snorts. 

At Jan’s answer, Jackie chuckles. 

But then she stays silent. 

The air crackles, and then the song changes. The opening lines of six _thirty_ wrap around them, and Jackie kicks her half of the duvet away. Jan follows suit because she can feel the heat in the room building and building and building, and then carefully watches Jackie. Jan becomes acutely aware of how Jackie is shifting, pressing her thighs together and pushing her hips into the mattress. The tips of her fingers are playing with the waistband of her sleep shorts - something which she usually does for comfort, Jan has noticed - but this time the action feels more weighted. Jackie breathes deeply in through her nose, then out through her mouth. 

“That’s kind of-”. Jackie pauses to gulp. 

“ _-Really_ hot”. 

Jackie’s digging her teeth into her bottom lip, and has her free hand fisted in the bedsheets between her body and Jan’s. Her knuckles are white with it, and delicately, Jan places her hand atop of Jackie’s. It makes Jackie loosen her hold, and then she turns her wrist palm upwards so that Jan’s fingers are able to slot together with hers. Jackie’s other hand is still toying with the waistband of her shorts, and her fingertips slowly disappear beneath it. She blinks slowly at Jan, lashes fluttering against her cheeks before Jan shuffles that tiny bit closer. 

“I’m not gonna’ judge, gorg”. Jan whispers. 

Her own hand twitches against her thigh. 

Jackie’s breathing shudders, and tickles at the skin of Jan’s shoulder. They’re so close that Jan could reach out to touch her, kiss her like she’s been thinking about since her last craft night with Lemon. Jackie could be hers and she could be Jackie’s but it feels like too much, too soon, and it’s why she settles for nodding her head. _This is happening_ , Jan thinks, even if it’s not in the way that she wants. Jackie’s hand has fully vanished into her shorts, and Jan doesn’t miss the way that she rocks her hips, or how she’s able to feel her own panties growing wetter. 

“It’s not weird if we, yknow…”. Jackie trails off. 

And Jan understands. 

So she shows Jackie. 

In movements and in whimpers that it’s _far_ from weird. 

Jan doesn’t shy away from the pleasure that she’s able to give herself, because it’s a need and a want and being next to Jackie is only amplifying it. She’s wearing an oversized t-shirt, one that’s bright a shade of bright pink, and she pushes it up until it’s bunched around her waist. Jackie’s elbow fits snuggly in the indent of her hourglass and Jan hums in encouragement when Jackie gasps, then mewls. The lighting in the room is dim but Jan is still able to see the movement of Jackie's hand beneath her shorts, and feel the way that her other hand is squeezing Jan’s tightly. 

They’re close but they’re not together, though Jan isn’t sure that it matters. She’s imagining how Jackie wet Jackie would be on her fingers, and whether she’d taste sweet or musky or a combination of both. Jackie’s moans are proving to be louder than Jan had ever thought they would be and it makes her clench down around two of her fingers. The muscles of her stomach are tensing like Jackie’s staccato groans, and Jan can’t tear her eyes away from Jackie’s arching back. Her lips are also parted, a red sea of lust, and Jan wants to drown in them. 

“You sound-”. Jackie pants. 

She turns her head to stare directly into Jan’s eyes. 

“-So pretty”. 

Jan is on edge, and her jaw is completely slack. Jackie is still looking at her, but she’s smiling honestly and tenderly. It juxtaposes the salacious sounds filling the room, each whimper and whisper of _fuck, yes, oh my god_. Jan drags her two fingers out of herself, uses the wetness that’s gathered on them to trace circles around her clit. It makes her hips buck, and she hooks her leg tentatively across Jackie’s knee just to feel grounded. Jan’s not sure if it works, but Jackie’s presence and her words of encouragement do have her panting, writhing. 

And then coming. 

She exhales Jackie’s name, but she doesn’t think Jackie hears it. It gets lost in the space between them, evaporates to dust that gathers on Jackie’s bookshelf in the far corner of the room. Jackie sounds angelic as she comes moments later, and Jan is in a daze as she wipes her fingers off on the material of her shirt. She drops her head back to the pillow beneath her - it feels like a cloud, dreamy - and then the playlist that had been on rotation comes to an end. Jackie’s still catching her breath but once she’s harnessed it, locked it back up, Jan gives her hand another firm squeeze.

“That was-”.

“Yeah”. 

Jackie looks at her then, and her face has relaxed into an easy smirk. It contorts into laughter just as quickly, and then they’re both giggling together, falling into each other's arms. Jan’s leg tightens around both of Jackie’s while Jackie loops an arm around Jan’s waist, and they press flush against each other. The sky outside is completely dark by this point - purples are now blacks, blues are dusky greys - and Jan is already able to feel sleep attempting to drag her under. Jackie’s lips press a searing kiss to her forehead and Jan thinks - not for the first time that night - that she loves women. 

And could love Jackie too. 


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “So you’re clearly horny for her, but are you feelings horny for her?”. She asks.
> 
> It’s then that Lemon mumbles a duh, but Jan’s mind is already elsewhere. 
> 
> She thinks about the duality of her relationship with Jackie. She stopped calling it a friendship weeks ago, when the lines had been blurred and the borders crossed because no friendship could hold a candle to it. In Jackie, she has the humour of her favourite idiot and the yearning of a love she’s never experienced quite as intensely. They also share a want that’s clear, apparent, and Jan is waiting - not so patiently - for the cord of tension to snap back like an elastic band. She wants warm mornings and even hotter nights, dreary afternoons and spark filled evenings. 
> 
> “I wanna’ like, fuck her then take her for breakfast, y’know gorg?”. Jan settles. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hi dolls and divas!! it's been a couple of weeks, but ch3 is here!! this one was super fun to write and time excited for these gals to finally get their shit together :)
> 
> feel free to let me know your thoughts! <3

They awake the following morning, legs entangled. 

But they don’t talk about it.

No matter how much Jan wants to. 

She continues to spend as much time - if not more - with Jackie as she has for the last month or so, and is unable to get her mind off of brunette curls and hazel eyes and Jackie’s intoxicating moans. They play like a cassette that’s stuck, tape catching on each cog of her mind. Jackie is spinning them with each word that she projects Jan’s way, and speeds up rather than stopping when Jan is already whirring with infatuation. Jackie has made herself a comfortable bed in each corner of Jan’s life and slowly, Jan is peeling back the covers to join her. 

Because Jackie, for all intents and purposes, is effortless. 

She joins Jan for the mundane and the exciting, the stuff that drains her as well as what perks her up. On more than one occasion she’s kept Jan company at her studio, and in return Jan has spent late nights on Jackie’s living room couch while Jackie furiously reads her way through classic novels. She annotates them with a HB pencil that Jan fishes from her bag for her, and reads small excerpts aloud to Jan while she sips at mugs of herbal tea. Jackie has even gone as far as to bring her study session to the ceramics studio, and Jan had half thought they were going to kiss over the pottery wheel while Jackie spoon fed her quotes. It hadn’t happened, but Jan wants it to; badly. 

The only thing that doesn’t come easy for Jan is vocalising it. 

And it’s not for lack of trying. 

Jan likes to think that she’s the queen of dropping hints, even if the reality is she’s more like the pauper of doing it badly. She has conversations with Jackie about her favourite restaurant, tells her that she’s never been taken on a date there. They speak about past hookups, though ultimately agree that they’ve both never been much good at them. Jan confesses that she’s a  _ hopeless romantic _ at heart and tells Jackie that nothing sounds more ideal to her than lazy Sunday mornings in bed with cups of over sweetened coffee and bowls of equally sugary cereal. Jackie goes as far as to make Jan’s ideal a reality when she crashes at her apartment one night, but still Jan leaves later that day with her longings unfulfilled. 

It goes on for another couple of weeks, until summer is in full swing and graduation is looming. Jan’s final showcase exhibition is just around the corner and it means that her life drawing classes have become infrequent. Her last one of the semester lands on a menial Thursday when it’s nearing a hundred degrees out, but she’s keen to take advantage of the model which she knows will come few and far between once she enters her internship at the downtown gallery. She’s had it lined up since before the last holiday season and she’s proud of it, even if the thought of a world so corporate both terrifies her and makes her want to vomit. 

Jan turns up to the class wearing a lilac co-ord - skirt, t-shirt, denim jacket tied around her waist - and is offered a wave by Nicky. She’s modelled every session since Jackie’s one time stint and Jan has learnt how to hide her disappointment every time she walks through the doors and sees a head of straight blonde hair instead of bronze curls. She misses being able to so easily take in the shape of Jackie, each swerve and indent of her body. Jackie has been her subconscious muse since Jan had first laid eyes on her delicate collarbones, her soft stomach, and Jan isn’t obtuse. She knows that in every one of her paintings and installations lies Jackie, in form and presence and memory. 

Next to her, Crystal chuckles. 

Her hands are stained black with charcoal but she scratches the tip of her nose regardless, leaves behind a smudge that makes Jan smile. 

“Jan, babycakes-”. Crystal sighs dreamily. 

She’s wearing denim overalls that she’s cut to her mid thighs, a white tank top that’s covered in splotches of green. She’s dyed her hair a fluorescent shade of orange since Jan has last seen her and it matches the chunky frames of her glasses as well as the laces of her docs. Her legs are dotted with tattoos that couldn’t belong to anybody else apart from Crystal - a One Direction logo on her knee, fine outline of a paintbrush near her ankle - and she’s as high as she has been since Jan had met her their freshman year. 

“-Remember when I really liked Geege? And you told me to  _ just go for it gorg? _ ”. She asks. 

Jan nods her head, then braces herself. 

“I remember”. She narrows her eyes. 

Crystal grins, then shrugs her shoulders, before turning back towards her easel. 

“Consider this me returning the favour when I tell you politely-”. She drawls. 

“-Get your damn shit together”. 

*****

Jan tries. 

She  _ really _ tries. 

But  _ getting her shit together _ isn’t as easy as it appears. 

Especially when Lemon and her girlfriend Priyanka decide to join in on making Jan feel like the most useless lesbian to ever lesbian. They’re sitting on the couch in the living room of Jan’s apartment when she gets home from her life drawing class, two bags of chips open on the coffee table in front of them. Lemon is still munching her way through a bowl of them that they’re sharing, but stops to offer Jan a gleaming smile when she sets her bag down in the hallway. Lemon calls her over with a wave of her hand and Priyanka - who’s swigging back a can of diet Coke - hollers enthusiastically. 

“Jan Jan Jan!-”. Priyanka cheers. 

“-Come forth! We have chips!”. 

“And good vibes, doll”. Lemon adds. 

“Yeah yeah, those too!”. Priyanka agrees. 

Jan sighs, but grins before toeing off her sneakers. She makes herself comfortable on the floor, cross legged on the other side of the coffee table. She rests her elbows on top of it after pushing aside the bags of chips, and looks up at Lemon and Priyanka. Priyanka is relaxed, slumped against the couch cushions, and Lemon has her legs thrown across her lap. They’re both wearing nothing but oversized t-shirts and dishevelled hair, and Jan can’t help but smirk at the sight of Priyanka playing with the gold chain that Lemon wears on one ankle, a small lemon shaped charm hanging off of it.

“You two look cosy”. Jan beams. 

She rests her chin in her hands, flutters her eyelashes against her cheeks. 

Lemon then flips her hair dramatically over her shoulder, and tucks her head into the crook of Priyanka’s neck. She places a kiss to her jaw, all while maintaining eye contact with Jan, and the shit eating grin on Priyanka’s face says it all. Lemon laughs openly, then pulls back. Her legs are still thrown across Priyanka’s lap but now she’s facing Jan, and their smirks mirror one anothers. Jan cowers under her gaze as if she’s a sprig of grass shrivelling in the sun and she swallows down the nerves that threaten to rise in her throat. They’re entangling roots, cracking the sidewalks as they grow. 

“Well-”. Lemon shrugs. 

“-Some of us don’t waste our time”. 

Jan knows that Lemon’s words are meant lightheartedly, but they hurt her. 

Anger her. 

Sadden her. 

“I’m not wasting time-”. Jan argues.

“-I’m just… being cautious”. 

As she says it, she feels her gut twisting. It feels as if she’s lying through her teeth, like she’s being dishonest. Lemon’s look is pitiful but understanding, as well as being mocking, and Jan should be used to the way her best friend is able to see through her but she isn’t. Not really. It shakes her every time that Lemon’s able to form a seamless patchwork garment out of her shredded thoughts, as easily as she’s able to make one of her dresses for her classes. She’s more intuitive than most people give her credit for; she’s looking at Jan with a still gleaming smirk, gloss fading on her lips. 

“Sureeee-”. Lemon sings. 

She snorts out a chuckle, takes Priyanka’s can of diet Coke from her hand and takes a sip of it.

“-Getting off with each other and then acting as if you’re girlfriends is  _ super _ cautious”. 

Priyanka’s jaw drops. 

“Lem!”. Jan pouts. 

But Priyanka’s shock is still growing. Her jaw is opening and closing, though no sound escapes apart from faint gasps and squeals. She grasps tightly at Lemon’s ankle, and Lemon shakes her away with a feigned  _ ouch _ . Priyanka’s eyes have noticeably widened, and they only begin to close when Jan blushes so furiously that Jan’s certain she could light the candle on the coffee table in front of her just by looking at it. Looking back and forth between Jan and Lemon, Priyanka cackles. She takes the can of diet Coke back from Lemon’s hand, and points an accusatory finger in Jan’s direction. 

“You got off with each other?!”. 

Her voice is sharp, and crackles at the end.

“That’s not the point here!”. Jan whines. 

Even though it is definitely the point. Because it’s something that Jan hasn’t stopped thinking about. She’s spent longer than she cares to admit lamenting over how Jackie had sounded, how she’d looked whilst touching herself. Jackie’s hand had gripped tightly at her own and Jan swears that some nights, when she’s by herself in bed, Jackie’s phantom touch guides it back between her legs. Jan has made herself come countless times to the thought of whines, whimpers and moans, and with Jackie’s permission she’d want more. 

Of everything. 

Priyanka whistles lowly then, and tilts her head inquisitively. 

“So you’re clearly horny for her, but are you  _ feelings _ horny for her?”. She asks.

It’s then that Lemon mumbles a  _ duh _ , but Jan’s mind is already elsewhere. 

She thinks about the duality of her relationship with Jackie. She stopped calling it a friendship weeks ago, when the lines had been blurred and the borders crossed because no  _ friendship _ could hold a candle to it. In Jackie, she has the humour of her favourite idiot and the yearning of a love she’s never experienced quite as intensely. They also share a want that’s clear, apparent, and Jan is waiting - not so patiently - for the cord of tension to snap back like an elastic band. She wants warm mornings and even hotter nights, dreary afternoons and spark filled evenings. 

“I wanna’ like, fuck her then take her for breakfast, y’know gorg?”. Jan settles. 

At that, Lemon snorts, and then rolls her eyes lovingly. 

“That’s lesbianism”. She states.

And Priyanka is right behind her. 

“Damn right-”. Priyanka cackles.

“-Calm down, Sappho”. She winks. 

Jan lets out a groan, and drops her head to her arms that she folds atop of the coffee table. The glass of it is cool under her skin even in the summer heat, and though she wishes it would succeed in shocking her back to reality, it doesn’t. She’s still caught in a daze that consists of Jackie, want, Jackie, adoration, and Lemon and Priyanka are looking at her as if they’re one step away from forcing them together. There’s a comeback on the tip of Jan’s tongue about it being the two of them in the situation not so long ago but she bites it back when Lemon’s face softens. 

“I’ll make you a deal-”. Lemon proposes. 

Before she even says it, Jan has a feeling she’s going to agree. 

No matter the consequences. 

“-If you talk to her, I’ll stay at Pri’s  _ all _ weekend”. She emphasises. 

Priyanka’s eyes light up, but Jan simply nods. 

She’s already fishing her phone out of her pocket, searching for Jackie’s name. 

*****

**Jan**

_ Jackieeeeee  _

**Jackie**

_ Jaaaaaaan _

**Jan**

_ Coffee date tomorrow? _

_ Or iced tea  _

_ Bc yknow _

_ Summer hhjfdsjajja _

**Jackie**

_ It would be an honour to get your gay little iced latte with you  _

_ I’ll get us cinnamon buns for the occasion _

**Jan**

_ You know me so well :)) _

*****

The following day is somehow even warmer. 

Though it’s not uncomfortable. 

Jan wakes up with the duvet bunched at the bottom of her bed, clad in only a pair of panties. She’d stripped off her shorts and t-shirt before settling down for the night, knowing that anything besides the sheer lace would break her out in an irritating sweat. The New York streets hold the heat like a thermos, and though Jan has become used to it, she by no means enjoys it. Jan thrives at her best when she’s able to wear her pastel knitted sweaters and dungarees in the fall, but she tells herself that it doesn’t render her incapable of turning a summer look. 

She dresses that morning in another co-ord set. She decides on one that’s pink, patterned in florals with the help of Lemon. Jan knocks on her bedroom door with a shy grin - she knows that Priyanka had left for one of her classes earlier in the day - and then pouts when Lemon crooks an eyebrow in her direction. Gesturing towards her body that’s draped in a loose robe, Jan huffs. She explains to Lemon that she has a coffee date with Jackie,  _ finally _ , and that all of her clothes are paint stained. It’s not something that usually bothers Jan and she knows it wouldn’t bother Jackie either, but Jan wants to look good. 

Hot, even. 

“Lem-”. Jan dramatises. 

“-All of my cute shit looks like Cinderella’s been wearing it to sweep her paint covered basement”. She whines. 

Lemon looks at her from where she’s still sprawled out across her bed, head propped up on her elbow, and then giggles airily. 

“And you’re telling me this because?...”. 

“Help me”. Jan surrenders. 

“With?”. 

“I don’t knoooow, you’re meant to be the fashion girl here and I am  _ suffering _ ”. 

Jan lets her arms swing at her sides, and juts her bottom lip out. Lemon regards her with a smirk that Jan thinks is proud but also cocky, and definitely a little too high for eleven in the morning. Lemon’s pupils are lazy but blown wide, and she rolls clumsily out of bed in order to walk to her closet. She rifles through it, pulls out a handful of options that Jan considers carefully. Lemon points out her favourites with drawling compliments and excited squeals, and it’s only when Jan is confident with the pink co-ord that she opts to call her out on it. 

“Question-”. Jan pauses. 

“-How are you this high when you haven’t even had breakfast?”.

“Baby-”. Lemon shakes her head. 

“-The edible  _ was _ my breakfast. Be thankful bitch, it gets my creative juices flowing”. She cackles. 

And Jan, for all of Lemon’s lunacy, can’t fault her for her logic. 

*****

When Jan arrives at the coffee shop, it’s a little before noon. 

She beats Jackie there by less than a minute - a rare feat that surprises her - and makes herself at home in a quiet corner. It’s cooler there, with the air conditioning thrashing against her skin, and she only gets up to greet Jackie with an embrace. She steps through the door with her hair piled high in a bun, wearing a smile, a blue calf length skirt, and a tight white tank top. She’s paired the ensemble with a pair of tan Birkenstocks and her same Shakespeare quote tote bag. 

Her arms wrap around Jan, as warm as the sun outside. Jackie has never held her in a way that isn’t welcoming, and the firm touch grounds Jan when she thinks she might otherwise vanish. Her fingers press against the small of Jan’s back through the fabric of her shirt even though it’s dampened by sweat. Jackie’s skin is glowing with the humidity and Jan would envy her for looking so put together if she didn’t also look ethereal. The oranges of the coffee shop walls compliment the golden tones in her hair, and her minimal jewellery glints with the sun that has made its way to them. 

Jan wants her. 

Has wanted her from the get go. 

“Hey”. Jan mumbles against the flyaways of her hair. 

But Jackie forgoes a  _ hello _ .

And launches straight into words that have Jan breaking out into another sweat. 

“You look so lovely-”. Jackie muses. 

Her eyes trail across Jan, linger for a second on her lips. 

“-The loveliest”. 

Jan thanks her with a soft smile, but doesn’t have time to process Jackie’s reaction and Jackie’s words before they’re walking up to the counter. They order drinks and cinnamon rolls like Jackie had promised, and then settle back down at their table with them. Jan sips at her caramel iced latte while Jackie nurses an iced citrus green tea, and they’re content to sit with a backing track of quiet chatter and acoustic music. They work their ways through both cinnamon rolls before either of them dare crack open a new can of conversation but when they do, Jackie is refreshing. 

“I’m glad you suggested this”. She starts. 

Jan leans forward in her seat, rests her forearms on the table. 

“Yeah?”. 

Jackie smiles, nods her head and then chuckles. 

“I like you-”. Jackie states. 

And Jan almost chokes on her coffee before Jackie continues. 

“-I like spending time with you. It’s nice, you know, outside of school and our apartments and all that”. She clarifies. 

Jan thinks about Jackie’s words, unfolds and unwraps them like a gift. Jackie  _ likes _ her. Likes spending time with her. It’s the validation that Jan had known existed but has needed to hear verbalised, and it makes her feel hopeful, emboldened. Jan has known that she likes - maybe loves - Jackie for a while, and she dares to believe that Jackie could share the same sentiment. Jackie’s eyes are looking back at her like coffee whirlpools, but unlike the drink in her hands they aren’t cold. They’re far from it, and Jan sinks into them, ready for the inevitable caffeine rush. 

She’s shaking, trembling. 

“I-”. Jan drops her voice. 

Her tongue is running without her mind's permission. 

“-I can’t stop thinking about how you sounded when you came”. 

It feels almost too dramatic. Jan prepares herself for the worst, but it doesn’t come. Jackie mutes herself as well as her reactions, and Jan is momentarily baffled by how she keeps her expression neutral and her body slack. The only signs of recognition that Jan’s able to see are Jackie’s knuckles turning white with how tightly she’s gripping her glass, her eyes that widen and then shrink again. Jan has to remind herself then that even though she might be dramatic - always has been, always will be - Jackie isn’t. The reminder calms her nerves a little, makes her breathe more evenly. 

As does Jackie’s smirk. 

“How about-”. Jackie tilts her head. 

She sets her tea down onto the wooden table, then wiggles her eyebrows suggestively. 

“-We arrange a… private life drawing session sometime?”. 

It’s stupid, it’s funny. 

Though it’s Jackie. 

Jan doesn’t hold back the laugh that Jackie so easily pulls from her, and she presses her hand to her mouth to stifle it with a snort. Jackie laughs with her, then picks up her glass to keep sipping what’s left of her tea. She licks across her lips, and Jan is sweating, boiling, but she feels light. Her shoulders sit more square without the weight on them and Jackie looks pleased to share the revelation with her. Jan wraps her lips around the straw swirling around her own glass, as slurps the remnants of her coffee that floats around the ice cubes. 

She looks up at Jackie, blushing. 

“What?-”. Jackie teases. 

“-I saw how you looked at me that one time. I thought Crystal was about to tell us to get a room in the middle of the studio”. She jokes. 

And it’s alluring. 

They keep talking as the afternoon drones on, and leave the coffee shop once they’ve drunk two, three, four drinks each. Jackie takes them on a detour through the nearest park, then they weave in and out of oaks and elms as the temperature drops in the early evening. They watch the clouds drift by from a section of daisy covered grass, and when it’s nearing eight they walk back towards Jackie’s apartment. Jan doesn’t plan on staying, but she does leave having made an impression that she knows is going to last. 

Her lips press gently to Jackie’s cheek, and uses a hand on her waist for leverage. 

“Have a good night, Jacks”. 


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jackie’s laughter is melodic, and it’s a song that eases Jan’s body into the mattress. Her eyes slip closed as Jackie leaves the roof, and then her ears are filled with the muffled sounds of Jackie’s footsteps on her floorboards. Jan is left by herself as Jackie strips out of her clothes, but then she’s surrounded once more when Jackie picks the phone back up. They fall asleep like that, after murmured good night's and whispered sweet dreams . Jan clutches her pillow to her chest as if it’s going to magically transform into Jackie, and has to try not to get disappointed when it doesn’t. 
> 
> She wakes the next morning with Jackie still not there, and it hurts more than Jan thinks it’s supposed to.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well,,, long time no art dykes! I have no excuse for this other than I got distracted by other things, but coming back to these dolls reminded me how much I love them. This ch is the longest so far, and dare I say I think it's one of the hottest things I've written? Yes I dare :) 
> 
> I hope you enjoy girlies!!

That night, Jan is too restless to sleep. 

Her mind is an endless cinema reel, that projects the same ten minutes over and over and over again. It’s as if the film negatives are stuck, getting caught on the coggs that stop turning whenever she thinks of anything to do with Jackie. Even stuff that _isn’t_ to do with Jackie. Conjuring up concepts for her final end of year exhibition still makes her think about the inspiration that Jackie’s shoulders hold, the art that Jan is able to see in every single one of her movements. Jackie’s skin is a canvas that Jan wants to get the chance to adore, and she can’t help but focus on Jackie’s proposed idea of a _private life drawing session_. 

Jan wants to etch marks into her skin like a lithograph, but also longs to treat her with the tenderness of a silk screen print. She pictures developing together in a dark room, sheltered from the glaring light of day. She wants to weave their hands together like the delicate threads of crochet and then if they ever break, she’d sew them back together. Jan imagines throwing the clay of their experiences onto a pottery wheel, and forming something that resembles the outlines of what they could hopefully be. 

The night is warm, almost uncomfortable. Summer is in full swing but Jan wishes it would give her a fucking break, god damn it. She wants to roll over in bed without the heat following her, because it serves as nothing but a reminder that Jackie isn’t laying there next to her. The sheets twist around her legs, and kicking them away is a waste of energy. The cotton sticks to her when she wants nothing more than to be free from it, and her glass of water that she’d poured fresh, ice cold only an hour ago is now tepid on her nightstand. 

She shoots it daggers from her place star-fished on the mattress, and then turns her head the other way to pick up her phone. 

When she does, there’s a text from Jackie, sent only three minutes ago. 

**Jackie**

_Are you awake?_

It’s blunt, to the point, and Jan huffs out a laugh through her nose when she first reads it. She almost fires back a joke about Jackie sounding like a teenage fuckboy, but decides that it’s better left unsaid for now. There’ll be plenty of time for sly digs and reads - at least Jan is pretty confident there will be - but right now she misses Jackie, even if it’s only been a handful of hours since she’d last seen her. Jan thinks about how they’d parted after Jan’s lips had pressed to Jackie’s cheek, and how she wants to kiss her lips instead. 

**Jan**

_I’m up!!!_

_Can’t sleep either?_

Jan types out her response as she rises from her bed. She walks over to her window, lifts up the latch to let in some air. It’s still warm outside because New York city holds a grim heat like Jan has never known, but the breeze is still nice. She allows it to blow across her skin, gather in the folds of the floaty fabric of her lilac curtains. They’re like the first flushes of a sunset despite it being well past midnight, and have always made her feel more at ease when outside sources have tried their hardest to do otherwise. She strokes her fingers across them, and then looks at her phone screen when it buzzes in her hand. 

**Jackie**

_It’s too hot_

_My apartment doesn’t have AC_

_I’m thinking about going to sit in the freezer_

Jan sits down on the edge of her windowsill, dangles her legs out onto the fire escape. The street below is the quietest that she’s seen in a while, and it fills her with a sense of serenity as she reads Jackie’s texts. They make her smile and giggle, blush and duck her head, but then she’s typing a response that she hopes will have the same effect on Jackie. Her thumbs dance quickly on her keyboard, two step turns that make her feel dizzy. She sends them off as soon as she’s written them; proofreading can go to hell, it wastes valuable Jackie time. 

**Jan**

_Do you wanna raid the nearest froyo store and sit in their walk in_

_Mine doesn’t have AC either_

_I’m hanging out of my window as if this heat is gonna make it any better gfhdjskal_

Jan smiles softly to herself, corners of her mouth curling and cheeks puckering. She texts Jackie back and forth for the next ten minutes - it’s easy, though she can’t remember a time when it wasn’t - and then closes her window once beads of sweat have stopped forming on her back. Slowly, she walks back to her bed, and collapses on it with a sigh as Jackie’s texts keep flooding through. They talk briefly about their looming graduation, but Jan diverts the conversation when she starts to think a little bit too hard about what comes after that. The uncertainty is enough to send anyone spiralling and that’s not the energy she wants to take forward, _no thank you_. 

Jackie seems to be on the same page as her. 

She sends Jan a series of corny literature reaction pictures that Jan has come to find both dumb and endearing, and then proposes that she calls Jan. Jan agrees without much thought - she wants to hear Jackie’s voice, is already thinking about the silk of Jackie’s words in her ears as she falls asleep - and then waits for Jackie’s contact picture to flash on her screen. There’s no more than thirty seconds between Jackie suggesting it and her soothing _hello_ , but Jan is still dramatic enough to pout as she waits for the call to connect. 

“Hi, you”. Jackie greets.

Jan is able to hear the gentleness of her smile through the phone line. 

But she can also hear cars, wind, voices. 

“Jacks-”. Jan laughs. 

“-Are you outside?”. 

She buries her face into her pillow to calm the grin that spreads across her face like wildfire, curls in on herself with her blankets bunched up at her feet. Mango has just joined her, and has nestled into a dent on the pillow next to her. He purrs loudly in her ear, but she’s still able to hear Jackie’s laughter over them. She holds out a hand for Mango to nuzzle, and he guides her hand towards his chin. Jan coos at how adorable he is, and then holds one of his paws in her hand as he begins to drift off to sleep. She tries not to be jealous of how effortlessly he does so, but gives up when Jackie starts talking. 

“I came up to the roof!”. She exclaims. 

Her voice is tinny through Jan’s speaker, almost hollow in the alcove of her room. It’s as if she’s stood on Jackie’s roof with her when she closes her eyes, tries to imagine herself there. She pictures Jackie in the blue light of the city, the contrasting orange of the street lamps, and twirls a loose thread of her pillowcase around her finger just to keep her fidgeting hands busy. When she tugs on it, it snaps, but Jackie’s words stretch across Hell’s Kitchen and into Jan’s arms. Jan holds them close, treasures them, and sends her own hushed whispers boomeranging back towards Jackie. 

“Is it pretty up there?”. Jan asks. 

Because Jackie - ever the perfect literature student - has a way with words and descriptions. 

And Jan wants to hear them. 

“I can see… everything”. Jackie sighs dreamily. 

She tells Jan about the barely visible stars in the early morning sky, and the handful of planes that fly like darts across the city. Jackie lists the stores and restaurants that she’s able to see on the streets below, and details the actions of those that walk by. Jan learns about an older man, dressed in green and walking his dog. Jackie laughs as she tells Jan about the can of coke that he’s drinking, and then cackles when he drops it with a curse. Jan thinks that it’s indicative of the brutishly beautiful New York that she’s lived in these past couple of years, and Jackie agrees with a hum. Jackie keeps pointing out the oddities and hilarities, then in return Jan gives her an anecdote about her first weekend in her freshman dorm room. 

“Lagoona was my roommate, and Rosé lived across the hall with Lem-”. Jan giggles. 

She thinks about their blues and pinks and yellows and purples. 

“-We could’ve been the revamped version of The Powerpuff Girls, I tell ya gorg”. 

Jackie’s laughter is melodic, and it’s a song that eases Jan’s body into the mattress. Her eyes slip closed as Jackie leaves the roof, and then her ears are filled with the muffled sounds of Jackie’s footsteps on her floorboards. Jan is left by herself as Jackie strips out of her clothes, but then she’s surrounded once more when Jackie picks the phone back up. They fall asleep like that, after murmured _good night's_ and whispered _sweet dreams_. Jan clutches her pillow to her chest as if it’s going to magically transform into Jackie, and has to try not to get disappointed when it doesn’t. 

She wakes the next morning with Jackie still not there, and it hurts more than Jan thinks it’s supposed to. 

*****

A few days later, when Jan tells Lemon that Jackie is coming over, Lemon is quick to make herself scarce. 

Jan gives her a look that Lemon is free to decipher as she wishes, but what she makes from it is exactly what Jan had been hoping. Lemon calls her girlfriend Priyanka, and screeches into her phone that _Pri! They’re finally gonna fuck!_ While Jan blushes behind her cup of iced coffee in the kitchen. Jan jokingly tells Lemon to shut up as they fix themselves dinner - pasta, a side of garlic bread - but doesn’t disagree with Lemon’s teasing. She’s hoping that Jackie _will_ fuck her, kiss her and adore her, but Jan also knows that she has to get through the actual life drawing first. 

Because Jackie had been serious when she’d offered to model for her, and it makes Jan feel understood. 

In herself and her art. 

Jan rarely declines an opportunity to improve her work, her skillset that she’s nurtured for so long. She knows that with each figure observation comes knowledge that she wouldn’t be able to get elsewhere, and to do that with Jackie is even better, she thinks. Jackie holds her attention the same way that the movements of her pencil do, the flow and ease of brush strokes on a canvas. Jan remembers when she’d first seen Jackie, all soft slopes and angular edges in front of her drawing class, and recalls the intensity with which Jackie had looked right back at her. 

It’s the same way that she looks at her later that night, when she’s stood pride of place in Jan’s bedroom, in front of her easel. 

Lemon had left as soon as Jackie had arrived, darting out of the door with a wink and a _bye dolls!._ Jackie had smiled politely whereas Jan had told her to fuck off, but then Jackie had smirked at Jan too and Jan had to relent, even if she did so begrudgingly. She sighed as the door clicked shut behind Lemon, a waft of vanilla and excitement going with her, and then had turned to Jackie. Jackie had dropped her tote amongst the cushions of the couch - she’d been wearing denim shorts, a red t-shirt tucked in - and then enveloped Jan in a hug. Jan had thought she’d looked pretty, if a little sweaty from the weather outside. 

She looks different now, in the dim light of Jan’s room. A little softer maybe, though not without control and definitely not without the prettiness. The only thing that’s really changed is her lack of clothes, but Jan thinks it’s that that makes all of the difference. Jackie has kept it professional throughout, demure and precise in how she’d unzipped her shorts, peeled away her shirt, and Jan wishes she could say the same for herself. Her eyes have been travelling for as long as Jackie’s been looking her way, and she’s caught herself on one too many occasions making a pencil mark that she didn’t intend to be because she was distracted by Jackie’s hips, or her collarbones, or her chest. 

“Quit staring at my tits”. Jackie mumbles. 

_Caught red handed_ , Jan laughs to herself. 

“Quit having nice tits then”. Jan counters. 

She says it with a blush that Jackie doesn’t miss. She crooks an eyebrow, and the slight shine of the summer induced oil on her eyelids glints under Jan’s amber fairy lights. They have white cotton sheets laid out across the floor, and others hanging from hooks in Jan’s ceiling. It creates the ideal blank canvas, a background for Jackie, and makes the room feel more like Jan’s dream studio than the usual lilac haven of her bedroom. Shadows bounce off of Jan’s easel, project onto Jackie’s body. Jan follows them with her eyes and then the tip of her pencil, and tries to translate the sight in front of her into lines and squiggles and creases and contours. 

Because it’s hard.

Jackie is infuriatingly distracting, exasperatingly attractive, and each time she switches position Jan has to rearrange her thoughts all over again. If Jackie moves her legs, it’s like Jan’s getting kicked in the deepest part of her brain that’s screaming for Jackie to come closer. When she swivels her hips, Jan has the wind knocked from within her lungs. She tries hard to get it back, but her chest is still empty when Jackie twists her body once more. Her arms drop to her sides, and as much as Jan _wants_ her, her pose isn’t going to work for what Jan has in mind. 

“Can I uh, can I move you?”. Jan asks. 

She twiddles her pencil between her fingers. 

“Sure you can”. Jackie smiles. 

She loosens her limbs, shakes out the stiffness that’s gathered in them over the past hour. She takes a step forward, until Jan’s able to make out the faint tan lines that her glasses have left across the bridge of her nose, her temples. Jan gravitates towards her, and bites at the insides of her cheeks as she clutches her pencil tighter. Jackie watches her each step of the way - her eyes start at Jan’s ankles and end on her pink tinted cheeks - and Jan doesn’t once see her composure falter. Jan admires it but it also frustrates her, and she huffs through her nose as she first touches her fingers to Jackie’s arm. 

“Can you put this arm like that and then… turn a little?”. Jan keeps her voice low. 

Jackie bends her elbow, pops a hip.

“Like this?”. She whispers. 

And it’s so very nearly there, but Jan still shakes her head. She’s a jittery perfectionist to her core, and the minute details are niggling at her. Sensing her annoyance, Jackie reaches out. She touches a hand to Jan’s shoulder, strokes a thumb across the expanse of skin that her t-shirt has slipped away from. She squeezes then, and Jan covers Jackie’s hand with her own. It sends her pencil plummeting to the floor, and Jan briefly registers the soft thud that it makes on the white sheets. Jackie’s eyes are still on hers, and Jan wants nothing more than for them to keep devouring her as blatantly as they are. 

Jan takes a step closer, then shakes her head. 

“We can stop, you know?”. Jackie reassures. 

But that’s not what Jan wants, either. 

“Don’t wanna stop”. Jackie breathes. 

And then they’re kissing. 

Jan presses herself against Jackie, firmly. The warmth of her skin bleeds through Jan’s t-shirt and her sports bra, and to her lungs that feel as if they’re on fire. They’re both drenched in clementines and tangerines, and kissing Jackie is as sweet and refreshing as biting into a segment of one of them. It feels like coming home in a way, where home is hotter than hell and Jan is burning alive. She lets Jackie turn her to ash, and then crumbles in her arms as Jackie’s touch wanders. There are hands on her waist and her hips, bunching her shirt upwards, and Jan whines wantonly into their kiss that’s only becoming deeper. 

“Finally”. Jackie chuckles against Jan’s lips. 

_Finally_ is a word that Jan thinks she agrees with. What they have has been building for as long as they’ve known each other, and Jan has been waiting not so patiently for the paint of their dynamic to dry. It feels like it has now, as Jackie weaves her fingers into her hair, tugs on the roots just so. She lets go when Jan mewls, and then Jan’s head drops as Jackie’s hand snakes to the base of her neck. Fingers traipse and her thumb tickles, but Jan gasps audibly when Jackie squeezes gently, and then not so gently. Her eyes flutter closed as Jackie keeps kissing her through it, but they open again when Jackie pulls her hand away. 

Jan moans in frustration, chases after her with a whimper. 

“Oh, you like that?”. Jackie smirks. 

“Mhmm”. Jan squeaks. 

Jan’s bed is only two steps away, but in the moment it’s two steps too many. 

She’s being walked backwards, until her back meets the cool wall, and then everything moves quicker. 

Jackie’s hands are rough in Jan’s hair, her hips pushing Jan’s own hard into the wall. It hurts just enough to have Jan whining into Jackie’s mouth, but she wants more of it, more of what Jackie has to give her. Their kiss is bruising and her touches are needy, and Jan encourages her, begs her for more with moans that she knows Jackie revels in. Jan licks her tongue into her mouth, hooks first one and then two legs around Jackie’s waist. Jackie holds her up by her hands that she moves down to her ass, and she squeezes tightly as she thrusts her hips forward experimentally. 

“I wanna fuck you”. Jackie pants. 

She pulls away just enough to lock her eyes with Jan’s. They flicker back and forth, down to Jan’s lips, her chest that’s heaving in her sports bra. Jackie lifts one hand from Jan’s ass to rub a thumb across her nipple that’s hardening under the fabric of it, and Jan tightens her legs reflexively. She doesn’t necessarily need to - Jackie is strong despite being delicate - but it’s worth it to hear the grunt that it pulls from Jackie. Jan nods her head, adamant that _yes_ , she wants Jackie to fuck her too, but then Jackie smirks and grins, pinches Jan’s nipple teasingly. 

It makes Jan gasp, squeal. 

“No no-”. Jackie purrs. 

“-I wanna _fuck_ you, Jan”. 

_Oh_. 

“You wanna-”.

“Yes”.

Jan thinks about how good Jackie’s hips feel against her own, and then imagines how it would feel to have Jackie fucking her, properly. She pictures what Jackie’s face would be like as she thrusts inside of her, and can practically already hear Jackie’s own ragged moans, her words that have Jan wet down her thighs. Because she knows that Jackie’s fingers would feel just as good, or even her mouth, but there’s something alluring about moving as one, and being able to kiss Jackie throughout as she pleases. It’s what she wants, decidedly, and the nails that she digs into Jackie’s skin are proof of that.

“Fuck-”. Jan moans. 

“-Yes, need that, _please_ ”. 

Jan drops her legs, lets Jackie take a step back. She undresses herself, fast - there’ll be other times to do it slowly, for each other - because this time is desperate. Jan is yearning for Jackie’s missing touch already and it’s only been a matter of seconds. They pass by excruciatingly slowly, but Jan knows that complaining about it isn’t going to get her anywhere. Her nipples are hard and she’s so wet that she can fucking feel it, streaking down her thighs and onto her fingers that Jackie chastises her for touching herself with. She calls her _greedy_ , tells her to be patient, but Jan has never been one for such things. 

With a shake of her head, Jackie turns on her heel. 

“Brat-”. She chuckles. 

It makes Jan blink, clench her thighs together. 

“-Where’d you keep your toys? I know you’ve got em”. 

Jan directs her to the bottom drawer of her bedside table, her chest blooming in heated patches of red and pink. They’re accompanied by a garland of marks that Jackie has left, and Jan traces her fingers across them in awer as Jackie kneels on the floor to open the drawer. It slides open with a rumble, and Jackie’s low laugh echoes it. She shuffles through it, humming and giggling at Jan’s small collection of dildos and vibrators and a harness that Jackie approves of. She places it on top of the drawers as she continues searching - Jan almost tells her that she definitely doesn’t need any lube but Jackie has already come to that conclusion herself - and then pulls out a mini bullet vibrator. 

It’s basic, but it’s one of Jan’s favourites.

And it’s purple, _duh_. 

“This is cute”. Jackie grins. 

Jan, still leant against the wall, purses her lips. 

“You can uh, put it in the harness. For you”. She flushes. 

Jackie hums her acknowledgment, and tosses it onto the bed as she stands back up.

“Good to know”. Jackie smiles. 

She takes a hair tie from her wrist in order to secure her hair into a high ponytail, and then reaches for the harness. There’s already a dildo secured to it, one that’s bright pink and just thick enough that Jan knows it’s going to burn deliciously. Jackie gives it a few experimental tugs as Jan watches her intently, and then picks up the bullet that she’d thrown onto the bed with a smirk. She examines it, turns it over in her palm, and Jan feels as if she’s watching a show created especially for her when Jackie switches it on by the small button on the bottom. She slips it into the harness, adjusts until it’s just right. 

“Oh-”. Jackie breathes. 

Her head tilts back and her stomach muscles clench. 

All while she has one hand still wrapped around the dildo. 

“-That feels good”. She sighs. 

The following seconds evaporate as Jackie’s hand begins to move, and Jan can’t help the way her own hand travels back between her legs. She rubs two fingers across her clit even as Jackie’s eyes warn her against doing so, then dips them lower. She slips them inside of herself briefly, the noise of her wetness loud in the otherwise quiet room, and then drags them out with a whimper. Her fingers climb back up her stomach, over her nipples until they reach her mouth. There’s a glimmering path that Jackie follows with her eyes, and it leads them to Jan’s tongue that’s lapping at her own knuckles, gliding between them. 

Jan grins around them, and tilts her head to the side. 

“Where do you want me?”. She asks. 

Jackie is already walking towards her, pressing their bodies together. 

“Right here-”. Jackie tells her. 

“-Stay _right_ here”. 

She lifts Jan with ease, so that Jan’s legs are hooked back around her waist and their chests are pressed together. The dildo hangs between them and Jan ruts against it with whimpers and whines, salacious stutters and simpers. Jackie keeps being as smug yet as soft as she has been since the beginning, and it makes Jan want her - somehow - even more than she already does. She whispers Jackie’s name into her mouth, so that it bounces off of her teeth, and then guides a hand between their bodies. Jackie is letting out small moans of her own and it spurs Jan on as her fingers encircle the dildo. 

“C’mon-”. Jan pants. 

“-I’m ready, _please_ , fuck me”. She rambles.

Jackie’s hand joins Jan’s, and then Jan is full. 

She fills her in one fluid motion, and it’s in keeping with how _smooth_ being with Jackie has felt so far. Jan moans, loud and open as Jackie grunts, and Jan’s head thumps against the wall behind her when Jackie’s lips return home to her neck. She kisses, sucks, leaves marks that make Jan feel wanted. Her fingers dig so hard into Jan’s ass that she’s already able to envision the bruises that are going to forge in the depths of her skin, but the faint pain of it makes Jan’s head spin. She grapples at Jackie’s shoulders, tries to centre herself, but she knows her attempts are never going to be anything apart from futile. 

“Fuck-”. Jan bucks her hips. 

“-Deeper, _yes_ ”. She begs. 

Jackie thrusts all the way inside of Jan, keeps one hand on her ass for leverage as the other migrates to her neck. She gives Jan a look that lets her know she hasn’t forgotten Jan’s earlier reaction to the pressure, the way she’d squeezed just enough for the lack of air to make Jan just a little dizzy. Her thumb presses to one side of Jan’s neck while her index and middle close in on the other, and she tightens her grip when Jan nods her head. She’s pleading with Jackie to do it, begging her to choke her, and Jackie complies while chasing her own orgasm deep inside of Jan. Her thrusts are skilled, confident, and Jan can’t believe it’s taken them this long to find themselves in this position if _this_ is what she’s been missing out on.

Jan closes her eyes, clamps her thighs around Jackie’s hips.

“Jan-”. Jackie moans. 

The tendons in her neck are strained, tense. 

“-You’re gonna make me come”. She hurries out. 

Her words are knitted together, and form one long string of mumbles that Jan barely hears over the blood rushing in her ears. It’s thumping at the same speed as Jackie’s thrusts, and it becomes one diffused groan as Jackie gets close, closer. Her fingers grow tighter around Jan’s neck, and Jan diverts one hand from Jackie’s shoulder to align it between their bodies. She rubs at her clit, in quick circles and messy up and down motions. There’s little to no friction with how wet she is and she catches Jackie briefly smirking at her before her face scrunches up in concentration. She bites her teeth into her bottom lip, and then parts them with a moan. 

“ _Shit_ ”. 

Both of her hands still. 

Her thrusts come to a halt. 

And then she releases her hold on Jan’s neck as she comes. 

She drops her head in a groan, and _god_ , Jan thinks, it may be the hottest thing she’s ever seen this close. Her fingers keep rubbing at her clit, and Jackie picks her pace back up. Jan is still able to feel the faint vibrations of the small bullet through the harness and she can imagine how good it feels for Jackie, too. There are droplets of sweat running down Jackie’s back, and Jan presses her fingers to them when Jackie thrusts up into her, and then pulls her hips back down onto the dildo. Jan clenches around it so that she’s really able to feel each drag, every ridge of the toy. Jackie whispers languid filth in her ears and against her lips, and then Jan is coming hard and sudden, her nails blazing trails of fire along Jackie’s back. 

“ _Jacks, ah!_ ”. 

Her neck cranes backwards, stretches to the ceiling. Jackie licks up the column of it, and kisses messily at Jan’s chin, the corners of her mouth. Jan’s hand keeps rubbing frantically at her clit and she moans loud enough for Jackie to mutter an _oh my god_ as her wetness gushes around the toy, down her thighs and onto Jackie’s stomach. The noises are obscene, profane, but Jan trembles through the aftershocks and the comforting whispers. _Good girl_ , Jackie mumbles, and Jan preens under the attention. Jackie is handing it out to her on a silver platter, and Jan eats it up because Jackie had hit the nail on the head when she’d called Jan greedy. Jan also knows that the sheets on the floor below are probably damp, but she hadn’t expected _that_ to happen. It’s only ever been a result of well timed fingering and is mostly always Jan by herself, but Jackie - 

\- God damn _Jackie_. 

“Jesus-”. Jackie praises. 

“-That’s so hot, I...”. 

Her words trail off, and ebb away with the waves of Jan’s orgasm. Jackie reaches between them to remove the bullet from the harness, before she switches it off and tosses it to the bed behind them. Jan giggles into their kiss, the toy still inside of her, but then whimpers when Jackie slowly lowers her to the ground. She feels empty, a little sore and a lot-a-bit wet, but Jackie is looking at her, all wrecked and disheveled, as if she wants her as much as she did when they started. She calls Jan _pretty_ , and then _beautiful_ , and then _gorgeous_ ; it makes Jan laugh heartily as she collapses with Jackie on the bed, the harness having been left on the floor. 

“Do you think-”. Jackie muses once a beat has passed. 

“-That this is the kind of stuff Pri and Lem get up to in the studio?”. She grins. 

As much as Jan wants to hate the comment, she can’t. 

Because love and hate don’t correlate in her world. 

And love is what she feels for Jackie. 

“I’m going to pretend you never said that, doll”. 

**Author's Note:**

> im also on Tumblr @ jancox!


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